Sick again

Thursday, 13/12/2012 – 182 A.D.

We have another faller, and this time it isn’t me. Our Kid was caught out with a touch of the old Ghandi’s Revenge at around 4 a.m. He made numerous visits back and forth to the bathroom, but that’s as much detail as I will go into. Somehow I managed to sleep through the whole thing – must be in Winter deep sleep mode already. Therefore I was initially surprised why he reacted so strongly to me drawing back the curtains at what I believed to be first thing in the morning. I was even more surprised to hear the news of his distress as he turned over and went back to sleep. Outside on the ledge of our window two pigeons were having scrap. I interpreted that as a bad omen.

So, just me downstairs for the vegetarian breakfast. I picked and prodded at the “Continental” cuisine, but was too hungry not to get stuck in. Tim had asked for some fruit if they had any, so I ordered the Fruit Salad from the menu, which turned out to be a banana and an apple chopped up on a plate. I took it upstairs for him, but it was still too soon for his tum-tum, so I ate the apple.

After a while it was mutually concluded that Tim wasn’t going anywhere for the morning, possibly for the rest of the day. I got my stuff together and headed out into the city of Jaipur, capital of all Rajasthan. First impressions? Sh*thole. Then again, I wasn’t anywhere near the tourist areas and was on the outskirts of the fabled “Pink City”. I was a bit wary about going anywhere too touristy without my partner in crime, but being stuck in the modern part of town was not pleasing to the eye. In an attempt to please the stomach I settled on a supposedly trustworthy source for lunch – Macdonalds. Didn’t fancy their chicken burgers again, so had fillet-o-fish for the first time ever. Not bad. 

[The local Bollywood cinema. Curried popcorn is optional.]

I returned to the hotel to check on Timbo, making an observation that tuk-tuk drivers are a real pain in the arse in this town. They pull up beside you, get politely told no once, get less politely told no a second time, yet they’re still there. One guy even got in a bit of a strop when I angrily waved him away and he protested that he was simply saying, “Welcome to India!” Come on, mate, I’ve done six months round the world, to the day, as it happens. In my experience there’s no such thing as a free lunch…errr, or a free friendly stranger. Fortunately Tim was doing okay, though still bed-bound and not in the mood for food or rising. He tried to go back to sleep while I discovered my bed sheets were sopping wet. No, it wasn’t due to a nocturnal accident or overly-pleasant dream, I’d simply put my day bag down on the bed which contained a bottle of water with the top not properly on. Was this another bad omen? Oh who cares!

I went back out into town after that, taking a different route and passing into the edge of the Pink City, which is essentially the old part of town where all of the buildings are painted a shade of pink (though it looked more like creamy-orange from where I was standing – does “creamy orange” have its own shade?) I entered at the Chand Pol Gate and proceeded down the road known as Chand Pol Bazaar. I was searching for some cabin luggage that we could take back to England with us, stuffed with souvenirs and cheap Indian goods – we’ve run out of backpack space. I could get rid of some clothes, but you know what I’m like for being sentimental with my garments – remember White Shirt’s funeral??? Chand Pol Bazaar consisted of endless tiny shops where you could buy pretty much everything, but not souvenirs. No, this was a place for locals to buy their cheap market goods, so the vast majority of it was of no use to me, but there were some luggage shops. I went into a couple, just to get a feel for the prices and realised I’d have to pay a bit more than I’d hoped. Maybe I was getting charged the extortionate rate, but the thing about haggling is that it’s much more fun if you don’t care either way if you walk out with the item. If you really want it, then you’re prone to making mistakes. In fact, I was lucky to get out of the second shop without buying anything, given how many suitcases I made them take out of their wrapping.

Eventually I came to a place where the guy showing me the goods stated that he collected foreign money. Seeing that I had a couple of Chinese coins in my wallet, I chucked one his way and he was made up. And eventually we found a suitcase that I was happy with, but I had to go through the hardcore haggling process with the manager, who I liked, but who knew his stuff. He knew I wanted the case more than he cared about letting it go. I used all the tricks in the book, e.g. claiming that the original discount he offered was for American shoppers, but I needed the Englishman’s discount; suggesting that Thursday was my lucky day, then claiming it was my unlucky day when he didn’t offer enough of a drop down in price. Finally, with things hanging on a knife-edge and neither of us prepared to move, I told him that I’d been fair and given his man a Chinese coin. “Where is mine?” he asked, trying to hide his smile. So I reached in my wallet and gave him a yuan, claiming that his was bigger than that which I gave his employee. “Because of my size?” he asked, pointing to his pot belly. “Because of your importance!” I countered. He gestured to the luggage with a smile, “Take it!” and shook my hand. I think that during our time in Asia Tim and I have both enjoyed haggling, but it’s so much easier when it’s over a tiny little trinket. There comes a time when you just want to see a fixed price for something! I can see me doing my Chirstmas shopping in just over a week’s time and trying to barter with the shop assistant in Curry’s Digital for a better price on some headphones!

[Here it’s a holy symbol.]

Back at the hotel, Tim was up and walking (gingerly) around the room, which was great. The tough guy is getting over his food poisoning ten times quicker than I did. But he obviously did not want an evening meal, so I checked the internet for somewhere good to eat in the area. Vegetarian, vegetarian, vegetarian…why so many vegetarian places in Jaipur? I asked the guy at the front desk and he confirmed that it was a caste-based religious thing. He suggested a place where I could go and eat meat – Jeez, I felt like a vampire!

The talk of the town was the place he recommended, but when I arrived it looked like a glorified burger bar. Come on, man, with one week to go of this trip I want to take advantage of being able to eat a comfortable meal out! And I ain’t risking anything that doesn’t come from a proper kitchen. I kept walking and tried a hotel bar, but – surprise, surprise – despite very generous beer prices, they only served vegetarian cuisine. Eventually I ended up at a place called Copper Chimney – a bit more swanky than where I’d usually hang my faded sneakers, but it served as a “comfortable meal out”. Plus it served meat.

On my way home I could not find anywhere selling the tube of sour cream and onion Pringles that Tim had requested, so I settled for a pack of sour cream Walkers crisps, known everywhere outside the UK as Lays. Unfortunately the rough `n` ready beer shop just across from the hotel which I’d hope to hit had closed and the darkened streets didn’t look like they contained many off-licences. I sidled up to a nearby “shop” (read cross between a newsagent stand and a cave) and the owner shrugged his shoulders and repeated that the beer shop was closed. His elderly friend mumbled something about going to some bar somewhere, but it sounded like a plug-your-mate’s-place thing so I ignored him and walked off.

Finding nothing but darkness down one road, I had to double back on myself and Newsagent Guy beckoned me over with a bony finger. He told me that he did have beer, but the elderly man in his shop would be going soon and he would sort me out then. I asked him why he couldn’t just come out and sell me the beers and he mumbled something about it not being allowed. I was past asking further questions by this point. And, sure enough, the old guy whizzed away on his moped and the newsagent paid a small boy a few rupees (???), then pulled out two ice cold Kingfishers and wrapped them in newspaper. He’d wanted 220 rupees for them, but I only had two one hundred rupee notes in my wallet, so I handed them over, and gave him my last Chinese coin which I said would bring good luck. And that I’d come and buy my bottled water from him tomorrow.

Half an hour after returning to the room, I was drinking that beer and Tim was eating those crisps. Result. I just love this semi-teetotal vegetarian town!

Friday, 14/12/2012 – 184 A.D.

Tim was feeling better today and was able to eat the fruit salad provided for breakfast. I, on the other hand, found the mango juice to taste extremely odd (it repeated on me all morning!) and had to leave the omelette that had been stuffed with onions and tomatoes, which hadn’t been the case yesterday. Ah, such trivial gripes!

We walked into town, taking the same route I had done solo the day before. We entered the Pink City and strolled along the bazaar-lined streets until we came to the Royal Palace of the Maharajas of Rajasthan (try saying that after several large bottles of Kingfisher!)

We hadn’t done too much background reading on the palace, and if truth be told, it wasn’t up to the standards of others that we’ve seen. And I suppose I should include the photo below because the guy demanded a tip for it – should have seen it coming, did see it coming from then onwards when each of his buddies also tried the same trick.

Unfortunately the exhibits on display were mostly to do with the traditional royal fashions from bygone days, which isn’t really my bag. But there was an interesting bit about polo – the game, not the sweet – and how it was huge over here. Possibly still is. Anyway, the Maharaja himself used to play it back in the 1930s, even competing at the World Championships and winning – take that, Princess Anne! Plus there was a “night ball” AKA a “fiery ball” which was a rounded metal grid with a lit candle in the centre. The force of gravity as this ball moved along meant that the candle always remained upright and lit. This meant that polo could still be played at night, though why they didn’t just paint a normal ball in bright orange is beyond me.

After a quick lunch at the Palace Café (best cheese sandwich I’ve had in India so far), we went looking for a tuk-tuk driver to take us up to Narhargarh Fort. Come on, there had to be at least one fort, didn’t there? Be grateful – it could have been three! It did not take long to find a willing driver, but the guy kept pulling over and querying the price with us, trying to get it back up to his original offer after we’d bartered him down. In a once-in-a-lifetime move, we did actually concede to his terms, but only once we saw how far up in the hills it was to the fort. Still, he didn’t tell us about the 10 rupee “parking charge” when we got there, the little so-and-so!

The fort wasn’t dear to get into, which was good, because the guidebook had claimed it was disappearing under a twin layer of graffiti and pigeon poo. In both cases, I agreed. Still, there were some excellent views over Jaipur to be had. While exploring the rooms we really started to get fed-up of groups of young Indians dashing up to have their picture taken with us, before shaking our hands and dashing off again. I hate to admit it, but I’ll be glad when I can get lost in the crowd again! I’ve got used to being stared at like I’m some kind of freak, and I’ve had to do the same thing while I’ve been away from England (boom-boom!) If you set your mind to it, you can quite easily ignore the constant stares and cries of, “Hello, Sir!” followed by laughter at having conversed with such a strange specimen of the human race. It’s best to just laugh it off yourself, but should you not happen to be in the right mood for it, for whatever reason, it can become extremely annoying. Fortunately I have a high tolerance level for life’s many little annoyances, given that I’m a middle manager at Smedley Hydro (second boom-boom!)

One the way back down from the fort, with the same tuk-tuk driver, he suddenly pulled over and asked if we minded sharing our vehicle with a couple of other young people who were seemingly stranded on the road. By this point Tim was starting to feel pretty knackered and just wanted to get back to the hotel, so to avoid a fuss we agreed. And so five girls got into the boot, and one lad sat up front with the driver – nine people in a tuk-tuk, ladies and gentlemen! It would never have happened had we been going up the hill. 

[The palace on the lake will have to wait for another visit, possibly another incarnation.]

Once we’d been dropped off we strolled back along the bazaar streets, but there wasn’t anything that caught our eye. So much for Jaipur’s souvenir stands! In fact, it’s not been the greatest of visits, though our time here wasn’t helped by Tim’s illness. Maybe if we had more time…but we don’t. Only one more place remains on this ker-azy round the world trip of ours.

It’s Mumbai or bust, baby!